


A Ghost Story of Halifax. Or, Celia's Carol

by Wapwani



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wapwani/pseuds/Wapwani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate shouldn't have died.</p><p>Does what it says in the tag. I hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ghost Story of Halifax. Or, Celia's Carol

Celia was furious. Livid even. Bad enough that Caroline had chosen to make such a public display of herself at the wedding, so much so that the story of the ‘lesbians kissing’ would be the only memory that people took away from the evening. “Were you at Celia and Alan’s do?” people would be saying years from now “You know, the one where her Caroline and the piano player were all over each other.” It wouldn’t be the amazing story of lovers reunited after a lifetime. No. It would be the mucky tale of her daughter blatantly declaring her preference for women in no uncertain terms. But, that wasn’t even the worst of it. The very worst of it was that Caroline had insisted on taking Kate up to her room! It was Celia’s honeymoon night – the only one she’d have that she had any real interest in – but it would be Caroline and Kate’s sex life that would be taking up primary residence in people’s minds.

Celia didn’t mind so much that Caroline claimed to love Kate. ‘Love’ was okay; a nice word, a comforting word; a word that they could still bandy about while living in separate houses and sleeping in separate beds. But when Caroline and Kate spent long minutes kissing and fondling each other in a crowded room, and then headed upstairs with the obvious intent of continuing…. _well._ There was nothing nice about that. Celia knew that people would be talking, and she knew exactly what they’d be saying too, because they’d all be merely echoing the things she herself was saying in the privacy of her own mind.

She knew she couldn’t complain about this to Alan. Alan thought the sun shone out of the idea of Caroline being with Kate. He got horribly soppy about it, his face creasing into soft smiles every time he’d looked over at the couple on the dance floor. If Celia had even mentioned how badly she thought the pair of them were behaving, she was sure that a row would follow. And she didn’t want to row with Alan. Not tonight of all nights. So she’d kept her griping to herself, which meant that by the time she finally fell asleep, her stomach was twisted with bile and ire.

A cold howling wind woke her. She looked blearily around the room, wondering how they’d managed to leave a window open. But the windows were firmly shut, and yet a chill wind blew through the room, ruffling the bed covers, and setting her teeth to edge with its keening wail. For a moment she wondered if they were still in Southowram, locked in with the ghosts. Ridiculous thought. There must be a draught blowing under the door. She looked over at Alan, who slept on through the cold racket. She couldn’t bring herself to shake him awake, he looked so content and peaceful. Instead, she climbed out of bed, wrapped herself in her robe, and went in search of the source of the disturbance. Their room was very pleasant, but not so large that it took her very long to notice the light shining from under the bathroom door. Strange. She didn’t remember seeing that before. She approached the door cautiously, more curious than concerned despite the oddness of the situation. She put a hand on the doorknob, and immediately snatched it back, the cold metal burning her skin. Yet despite her having put hardly any pressure on the handle, the door swung open. A bright light spilled out into the darkened bedroom. From between the fingers of the hand she’d raised to protect her eyes, Celia could just make out the silhouette of a woman framed in the doorway. As the woman walked out of the bathroom the details of her grew more apparent, and Celia began to wonder if she was having a heart attack and hallucinating. The woman, or girl really – even with the heavily made up face it was obvious she couldn’t have been more than nineteen – was dressed like a character from the old posters that Caroline had tacked up on her walls at home, before she’d gone away to university and had come back unrecognisable. Her dark hair, slicked close to her scalp with what looked like half a tub of gel, glowed with a somber light; her cheekbones thrown into sharp definition with dark shadows; her mouth a vivid slash of red. She sneered at Celia.

“Wha…what _are_ you?” Celia quavered. “Where did you come from?” 

“You could think of me as a blast from the past.” Her voice, despite the sneer, was sweet and gentle. 

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” 

“No Celia. You aren’t. You’re being given a chance here. I hope you take it.” 

“A chance to do what?” 

“Undo the damage you’ve caused. And the damage you have yet to do.” 

“This is a dream. A bad dream. I knew all that posh food was a bad idea.” 

“If it helps to think of me as a bit of undigested cream sauce, you go right ahead. But you and me? We’re going on a little trip down memory lane.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Celia batted at the young woman’s hand, but she managed to grip her wrist and give it a gentle tug. Celia found herself moving. Floating more like, through the bathroom door and into a swirling mist. She didn’t know how long they floated; it felt like days, it could have been seconds. The mist cleared abruptly and Celia found herself looking at a tiny room, barely big enough for a single bed and wardrobe, with hideous red carpeting and pastel wallpaper. The curtains were drawn against the watery sunlight, but there was a small reading lamp on the floor, filling the room with a soft light.

The young woman, who still grasped Celia’s wrist, sighed in contentment. “Even after all this time, this still feels like home.” 

The door burst open, two young women tumbling through and ending up sprawled over the bed. The tiny room seemed to come alive with their laughter. Celia recognised one of them as her mysterious companion; less garishly made-up and dressed more like you’d expect a regular teenager to dress, but it was undoubtedly her. To her shock, the other girl was Caroline. A Caroline she barely remembered. Gangly and gauche, but bright eyed and bubbling with laughter, no creases of worry around her eyes, no hardness to the set of her mouth. She’d forgotten how very happy Caroline could be.

“I have tutes to prep for, Hannah.” Caroline was saying. “I shouldn’t be spending every moment of the day listening to you play.”

“Oh hush. You know you’ll have it done in five minutes. I’ll leave you alone all day tomorrow. I promise.”

“Oh. I won’t see you tomorrow?” Caroline sounded suddenly sad, and Hannah hugged her.

“You will. You will. I’ll rescue you at five. How’s that sound? We can wander down to Jericho for a meal.” 

Caroline nodded happily, her smile returning, and flopped back on the bed. The two girls gazed fondly at each other, and Celia turned her face away.

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked the Hannah who stood at her side.

“She went home for Christmas soon after this. It wasn’t the same when she came back.”

“I-“

“I’ve always wondered why. Wondered what happened.”

“Don’t-“ But it was too late. Hannah was already tugging gently at her wrist, and the swirling mist had returned.

 

When the mist cleared this time, Celia found herself back in familiar territory. Old familiar territory. Her twenty-odd-year younger self was in the middle of preparing dinner. Young Caroline was helping, chopping vegetables and telling some story about a friend of hers.

“Hannah is the most brilliant violinist. She’ll have first chair one day, you’ll see.”

“Didn’t know you liked the violin.” 

“Oh it can be so beautiful. When Hannah plays-“ 

“You spend a lot of time with this Hannah, do you? Don’t you have any other friends?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. A fair few.”

“Any young men?”

“Yes. I suppose. But Hannah is far more interesting than any of them.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that Caroline. Sounds like she’s trying to keep you all to herself.”

“I don’t mind. I like it.”

Celia watched herself bang the rolling pin down on the counter. She cringed, knowing what was coming next. She glanced over at Hannah, seeing the anger start to crease between her eyes. 

“Well you should mind,” younger-Celia was saying. “I’ve heard of girls like that. Bent. Trollops.”

“Mum!”

“Oh you know I’m right. A girl of that sort. One of _them_. Why would you get involved with her?”

“Hannah isn’t like that! Hannah is-“

“Has a boyfriend, does she?”

“No. No of course not.”

“’Of course not’. What do you think people say, about the pair of you? What would your _father_ say?”

“Mum, you’re being unfair. You don’t even know her.”

“Don’t need to know her to know her sort. _You_ aren’t like that. I raised you better than that.” Older-Celia could see the light in Caroline’s eyes start to dim. Younger-Celia either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and pressed on. “You know I love you, Caroline. I only want what’s best for you. This girl, this Hannah, seems to me like she’s dragging you down into the dirt with her.”

“Mum.” A feeble attempt at a parry.

Younger-Celia sensed her victory was imminent. “Remember why you went to Oxford, Caroline. Why you’ve gone so far from home. It wasn’t to take up with some artsy young tart, was it?”

“No, Mum.”

“That’s right. Just you focus on your studies young lady. And stay away from this Hannah. There’s no place for the likes of her here.” Younger-Celia had turned back to her pie, so only her older self saw the pain that flashed across Caroline’s face, saw the happiness in her face die.

Older-Celia turned to Hannah, flinching at the anger she saw in the young woman’s face. “Please,” she said quietly, “why are you showing me this?” 

“This is where it started Celia. Well, one of the places it started. She was never the same after this. She came back to me broken. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t put her back together again. She carries the cracks of it to this day.”

“I did what I thought was best!” Celia said.

“Best for you. _Not_ her.”

“Why are you showing me this?!”

“Not my place to say.” Hannah reached out and grasped Celia’s wrist. When the mist cleared, Celia was alone, back in the hotel room, where Alan still slumbered peacefully in their bed.

 

She hurried towards him, wanting to wake Alan, wanting him to tell her she was just having a nightmare. But the howling wind kicked up again, the bright light came spilling out of the bathroom again, and Celia turned, terrified at what she would see.

“Oh, _Kate!”_ The relief in Celia’s voice was palpable. “What on earth are-“ her voice broke off as she focused on her new visitor, and noticed small details. Kate looked older somehow, faded around the edges. Her belly was flat. Her face was set and grim, colder and harsher than Celia had ever seen her. “You’re not Kate.

“I am. I’m the Kate you’ll never get to know, Celia.”

“What do you mean?” No response. Instead, Kate reached out and grasped Celia’s wrist. The now-familiar mist swirled.

Celia found herself in the Harrogate house, watching Caroline and Kate prepare a meal in the kitchen. Well, Caroline was preparing; a heavily re-pregnant Kate was perched precariously on a stool, folding napkins.

“You really want me to stay?” Kate was asking.

“Yes. Of course. Don’t be daft. I just got you back. Not letting you get away again.”

Kate climbed carefully down off the stool and went over to Caroline. She held Caroline’s face tenderly, kissed her softly. Celia could hear the hum of contentment Caroline made. When they broke apart, Kate whispered “Happy Christmas my love.”

Caroline smiled, an old smile, one Celia hadn’t seen since her daughter was eighteen. A smile that drew its brightness from a happy soul. Celia felt unexpected tears pricking at her eyes. She wanted to turn her face away, but couldn’t. Not with the grim-faced stranger Kate by her side.

“So, yes, you’ll stay for Christmas lunch?” Caroline asked.

“Yes. This Christmas, and every Christmas.” Kate’s voice was soft but heavy with promises. She kissed Caroline again, taking her time, winding her arms around Caroline’s waist to pull her closer.

Kate finally came up for air, but when she moved to kiss Caroline again, she stepped back out of the circle of Kate’s arms. “I should call Gillian. See if she’s managed to find someone to take the sheep.”

A slight frown creased Kate’s forehead, but she chased it away with a smile. She let Caroline go without a protest.

“Do you see that?” Stranger-Kate ground out, glaring at Celia. “She can’t stay in the moment. She runs away.” 

“She doesn't mean to.”

“I know she doesn’t! But she’s afraid. Even with me, she’s afraid.”

“She loves you.” 

“She was broken Celia. And she hasn’t healed all the way yet.”

“I don’t-“ But Stranger-Kate was grasping her wrist, and they were moving through the mist again.

 

It must be Valentine’s – the living room was filled with candles and heart-covered cards and flowers. The display surprised Celia. She didn’t remember John and Caroline being quite so effusive. Obviously it was different with Kate.

The women were on the sofa, Caroline somehow managing to curl herself around the curve of Kate’s belly. She was pulling a box out, balancing it on Kate’s distended stomach. Kate was crying.

“She asked you to _marry_ her?!”

“She did. For all the right reasons too. To make an honest woman of me. To legitimise our child.”

“But that’s…it’s only been-“

“She very romantic, Caroline. She’s just got a very Caroline way of showing it.”

Stranger-Kate reached for Celia’s wrist again, but something made her pause. She was watching the couple too. “Do you see, Celia? How happy she is? Do you have any idea how wonderful it feels, to know that you can make someone that happy – just by existing?”

Celia didn’t answer. She was watching Caroline blossom under Kate’s caresses. “I love you,” Kate was whispering over and over again, as she peppered Caroline’s face with kisses. Caroline was laughing, her entire body a glorious expression of joy. Celia felt robbed of something very precious when Stranger-Kate’s hand clasped over her wrist, casting a swirl of mist over her sight of the happy couple.

 

They were in the hallway of the Harrogate house. Celia couldn’t tell when they were, but all the wedding decorations told her what day it was. Caroline was kissing Kate; was thanking her for giving her courage. Celia felt a twist of jealousy. Caroline had always said she got her fearless attitude from her mother. And now here she was telling Kate she owed her instead. They watched Alan call Caroline away, saw her storm back into the house, thunderclouds gathered over her head. When she saw Kate, she started to cry, folded herself into Kate’s embrace and sobbed on her shoulder.

“She won’t come. She’s doing it again.”

“Oh love, I’m so sorry.”

“I begged her. She wouldn’t listen. Her stupid row with Alan is more important than this. Than me.”

“No, no. You know she loves you.”

“She’s got a damn funny way of showing it.” Caroline was sniffling, the storm of tears passing. Celia could see the coldness taking their place. “I’ve had enough of it, Kate. I’m done.”

“She’s your mother.”

“Then she should start acting like it.”

“Caroline-“

“I’m not going to argue with you, love.” She turned Kate’s hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “We’re getting married. That’s all that today’s about.”

“You know that there’s no one more important to me than you.” Kate told her.

“Until this one comes along.” Caroline grinned, caressing Kate’s stomach.

“Even then.” Kate said seriously. “I have love enough for both of you.”

And just like that, the coldness seeped out of Caroline’s face, to be replaced by a flush of warmth that glowed out of her like she was lit from within. Celia found herself crying, though she couldn’t fathom why.

“Remember that,” Stranger-Kate was saying, not unkindly, “remember that she was healing.” Her hand closed over Celia’s wrist.

 

Back in the bedroom again, and Celia was still crying. She felt the wind a second before it started blowing, shielded her eyes against the light half a second before it could blind her again.

“Please,” she whispered to the small figure that came through the door, “No more.”

“Not much longer now.” Her new visitor was a teenager. Probably around Lawrence’s age. A girl. Short skirt, bright orange hair that clashed quite horrendously with her coffee-toned complexion.

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Grace.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You will.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where this all started. Christmas.”

A clasp of her wrist, and they were back in Harrogate. A very different looking house than before though. It had to be Christmas, because there were decorations and a large tree and a ham on the counter. But there were no people, no sound of conversation or laughter.

The front door opened and a man and woman came in. His red hair had thinned, taming the curls. She looked older, but as beautiful as she had done on Celia’s wedding day.

“We won’t stay long.” William was saying.

“I know. Just like last year.”

“We have to at least show willing. Lawrence – well, he prefers New York. And who can blame him?”

“She does try.”

“I know. I know. But it’s not…it’s not home here, anymore.” 

Celia turned to her young companion. “What’s happened? Where’s Caroline?”

As if in answer, her daughter came down the stairs. Celia’s heart twisted. This was worse than when John had left her.

“Oh hello dears,” Caroline was greeting William and Effie. The forced cheerfulness in her voice was painful to hear.

Caroline looked like she’d been painted in over-watered colours; dull and lifeless, the spark and light Celia had seen in her before were gone.

“How’s the school?” Effie asked.

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful. We’re expecting good results again.”

“Of course." 

“Nothing near as good as your year of course, dear.” She patted William’s hand. His smile was as forced as hers.

“Shall we eat?” Caroline asked, waving them towards the already-laid table. “I know you have a long drive.”

They took their seats with no objections.

“No Grace?” William asked.

“Flora’s around. She said she may eat later, not to wait.”

“How are things with her?”

“Oh, you know. Teenagers. She wants to go back to New York. To be with her gran. And Lawrence.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. She misses her brother. May be for the best. Do try some of this ham. New recipe this year!”

Celia rounded on Grace, who was sitting under the tree, poking at presents. “What’s happened? Where’s Kate? What’s happened?!” 

“Mum lost Kate. Years ago now.”

“Oh no. They divorced?” 

Grace shrugged. “Mum never really recovered. So they say. I don’t know her any other way than this.”

“What way?”

“Sad. Lost. Broken.” 

“This is not Caroline. Caroline is a fighter! She wouldn’t give up … everything like this! I wouldn’t let her!”

“Well, you left her too, didn’t you?” 

“I would never!”

“’Up on your high horse’. That’s what you said to her. I remember. I was just a little thing. But I remember. I remember how she cried. It was just me and Lawrence then. He was really great to me. I miss him. He made me laugh. No one laughs here anymore.”

“Caroline loves her children. She would never become… _this.”_

“Yeah, she loves us. We all know that. But I think she’s forgotten how to show it. She’s been so afraid for so long, she doesn't know how to anymore.”

“So you all just abandon her?!” 

“We tried!” Grace was furious now. “All of us! Even Alan and Aunt Gillian tried! She shut us all out. After you left, that was it. She was nothing but walls. She blamed herself, for losing Kate. And you. She blamed you. But I don’t know why.”

“This is madness!” Celia shouted. “Madness! Tell me what to do! How can I fix this?!”

Grace shrugged and grabbed Celia’s wrist. “I don’t know. I’m just a kid.”

 

Celia rolled over onto her side, clutching at her head and groaning. She opened her eyes to see Alan’s worried, solicitous face. 

“You all right, love?” 

“Oh. Oh Alan. I’ve had the most awful dream!”

“Well, you’re all right now, love. It’s Christmas morning, and all is right with the world. Happy Christmas, Mrs. Buttershaw.” He leaned over and kissed her.

The crisp winter sunlight banished all thoughts of ghostly night-time visitors. “Too much rich food.” Celia told herself. “I’d best take it easy today.” The memory of her dream was already fading. She couldn’t think why she’d been so upset by it. By the time they’d got dressed and packed up, and said good morning to all the guests who had stayed on at the hotel, and had a little breakfast party, Celia had quite forgotten the harrows of the night, and was ready to start the second phase of life married to Alan Buttershaw.

Soon after this, Gary entered their lives, and with him the story of Alan’s infidelity, and Celia’s world was reduced to hot pinpricks of humiliation and distrust. There was no room in her mind for thoughts of strange Christmas-eve dreams. She was too caught up in her own suffering, seeing herself as the one who people would laugh at and pity. So even when Caroline came to plead her case, Celia had hardened her heart. It wasn’t that big a deal, this wedding. Not really. They’d been living together for months now. Everyone knew they were a couple. This marriage was just a rubber stamp really. It didn’t really mean that much.

On the wedding day, she’d offered Lawrence safe haven, but he had abandoned her to go to the party at the house. Just like everyone would abandon her in the end. She felt very sorry for herself. She needed to know that she was still loved, and with no Alan in the flat, she turned to the other source of constant love in her life. But Caroline rebuffed her too. Caroline picked Kate over her. As though that relationship meant so much more than her relationship with her mother. As though Kate offered her something Celia didn’t. Or couldn’t.

Celia wrapped herself in her misery, and sat on the sofa in her darkened flat. She felt sleep creep over her. But there was a howling wind, and a bright light, and she woke with a start. There were two people sitting across from her. A gangly teenager, and a woman who looked like an older, angrier, Kate. The woman leaned forward, said “Remember,” and grasped Celia’s wrist.

Celia came awake with a start. It was late morning, and her flat was empty. No strange visitors. What on earth had _that_ been about? She got to her feet, got dressed, and suddenly it swept over her, all the images of that night, everything she had seen and felt. She wept. Wept for her broken daughter. Wept for the part she had played in breaking her. ‘Caroline is a fighter,’ she had said. And she was. But there were some fights that she must have decided just weren’t worth fighting anymore. She had to make her see!

 

Celia hurried through the garden over to the front door of Caroline’s house. Lawrence and Angus were climbing into the jeep, William was saying goodbye to his mother, and Kate was just walking around to the driver’s side of the car.

“Wait!” Celia said to Kate. “Please wait.”

“Hey Gran. We have to dash.” William was kissing her cheek. “I’ll miss my train.”

“I have something to say.”

“Really Mum, can’t this wait?” Caroline didn’t sound angry, just stressed. “The boys have to go." 

“And we need milk,” Kate said jovially. “You know what she gets like if she doesn’t get her afternoon cuppa.”

“I _have_ milk. You can have all the milk,” Celia said. “Please, just hear me out.”

“Mum,” Caroline was concerned now. “Are you feeling all right? Come inside.”

“No. No. I want Kate to hear this too. And the boys. All the children.”

“Mum, please. Come and sit down.” Caroline had come down the steps, and Kate had moved to her side.

“I want to tell you Caroline, that you are a fighter. I taught you that. And some things are worth fighting for.” She grabbed Kate’s hand. “ _She_ taught you that. Don’t forget that, okay? Please remember.”

“Mum-“

“I’m sorry. I’m a stubborn old woman. I’m sorry I spoiled your day. 

“Mum, come inside. I think we should talk.” Caroline reached over and kissed Kate. “You’ve got lots of time. Don’t rush. I’ll see you when you get back.”

 

Caroline sat with her mother and heard the story of the dreams, all the strange visitors who had come to Celia in the night, who had shown her the truth of Caroline’s journey to Kate.

“Really Mum. That’s quite fantastic. How much did you have to drink that night?”

“It’s not funny Caroline. It all felt so real.”

“Kate and I are not getting a divorce! I would _never_ let Lawrence and William grow so distant. And Kate and my daughter – she will always be loved here. Always. No matter what she colours her hair.” She glanced down at her watch. “Gosh. Is that the time? Kate’s been gone an awfully long time.”

There was a knock at the door.

Caroline opened it to a police officer, and a shaken looking Kate.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“Everything’s fine ma’am. She’s had a bit of a fright, and in her condition we thought it best she didn’t drive.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” She barely acknowledged the police officer, much more concerned with getting Kate into the house.

“There was an accident,” he said, following Caroline through the house. “Some kids messing about. Stole a car, went joy-riding.”

“They were this close.” Kate said in a small voice. “I was just coming out of the market. Two minutes earlier, and I’d’ve been right there.”

“They went through the pedestrian crossing. Hit that big wall by the church.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’d’ve been … crushed.” Kate’s voice was rising. Caroline put her arms around her.

“Hush love. You’re fine. It’s fine. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

 

Later, much later, after tea and cuddles and soup and a re-telling of the story at least fifty times, after a hot shower and a long slow foot rub, Kate finally felt peaceful enough that she thought she could sleep. She looked down at her wife as she lay by her side, solicitous and loving as only Caroline could be.

“I could have died.”

“I know. But you didn’t.” 

“ _She_ could have died.” She rubbed a gentle hand over her belly. Caroline reached up and covered her hand with her own. 

“She’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine.”

“We’re not taking another day for granted, Caroline. I mean it.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you.” She kissed her, taking her time, letting Caroline feel just how much she loved her 

Kate leaned back as a sudden thought struck her. “We’re so lucky your mum came by.”

“Hmm?” Caroline was much more interested in kissing her neck than talking about her mother.

“No, really Caroline. Can you imagine. If she hadn’t? I’d’ve been earlier. She delayed me just enough-“

Caroline cut her off with a long languid kiss. “My darling. My mother is a wonderful woman. She may very well have saved your life, and our daughter’s life. If you like, tomorrow, we will go out and buy her the biggest bouquet of flowers we can find. And a nice card. Which I will even sign. But tonight, Mrs McKenzie-Dawson, I think we have some other things to worry about. Hmm?”

 And she kissed her wife again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired/stuff quite liberally stolen from Dicken's A Christmas Carol
> 
> I didn't set out to redeem Celia. Originally, it would've been Caroline who was visited by all the ghosts. But the idea of Celia as Scrooge was too perfect to pass up.


End file.
